


Season (of love) Undending

by floralb0t



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Keith as Dragonborn, Lance as a Mage, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 13:36:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14082087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floralb0t/pseuds/floralb0t
Summary: “Get back!” Was shouted by everyone, to everyone else, and Keith finally saw what was attacking.There, leaning in the hole it had just made in the side of the tower, was a dragon. Its skull was as big as a man’s torso, and its eyes shone in recognition as it ended it’s barrage of flames, and flew off to attack elsewhere. Through the flapping of wings, Keith could almost hear words.Not Dead Yet, Just Updates Very Very Slowly :(





	1. Unbound

The wood underneath Keith groaned slightly as the wagon rounded another curve in the road. There would be no way out this time. This time, he had really done it.

The wind in the trees was low and gentle. There was distant music in the air, meaning they were nearly at their destination. Under the cart, small quartz rocks glimmered in the fading sunlight.The others in the back with him were in varying states of consciousness and distress. It is hard to hear their breathing over the groaning of the wood and the stamp of the horses' hooves.

Every sound was like a hammer to his skull. No doubt, he had been knocked upside the head so hard he had to be concussed.

God, Keith had _really_ done it.

The person sitting across from him diagonally in the cart slowly groaned and woke. The bruises on his face made him hard to look at, but it was even harder to hear him talk. Keith didn’t think he looked much better. A curse slipped past the man’s lips.

“Gods save me. My head pounds…”

There was a pause as he, Keith assumed, it was hard to tell under the black eyes, looked around at his fellows. A look of abject horror was dawning on his face.

“It wasn't a nightmare. Why?” He began to sob. “Why is this happening to me?”

The man directly across from Keith laughed. It was a harsh sound. “You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. You just walked into that ambush, same as all of us! Hah!” The blonde stormcloak gained a gentle smile. “At least you will die with heroes.”

Keith was too angry at himself for making such a dumb mistake to challenge the stormcloak on his statement. Another sob escaped the man as he took in his fellows.

“Heros? You bunch of … of … of Stormcloak Wolves!”

The man across from Keith slammed his fists down, ignoring the angry “Keep it down, back there!” from the guards. He then made a gesturing nod towards the man beside Keith. “You are in the presence of the _true_ High-King of Skyrim, Ulfric Stormcloak! Hold your tongue before I _make_ you hold it, you hedge-born knave.”

Gods, Keith thought, so much drama. Couldn’t he just sit there, stewing in his own idiocy, in peace? All he wanted to do was cross the border to get back home, but _noooo_ . He just _had_ to get captured with Ulfric Fucking Stormcloak.

Off to the chopping block.

Fucking Hell.

Keith wanted to slam his hands down like the man across from him, who was still ranting about how the horse-thief was an ingrate or some bullshit. How were all just sitting there? Didn’t they realize how bad this was?

He was too mad to pay attention to the other captured persons and instead turned to their destination. A wall was appearing between the trees. Imperial bows walked along the top of it.

Helgen, of course.

His head swam a little from trying to swivel his head around to see.

One of the guards walking beside his cart was quietly talking with the one driving it. “General Tullius is has been waiting all morning. Do you think he’ll be annoyed we took this long? Or just glad we got that Stormcloak churl?” She spat on the ground.

The driver laughed. “I have no idea, but I’ll sure be glad to have this whole ordeal over and done with.”

Keith had to agree. It sure would be nice to survive, but after having been knocked out only to sit in this cart for hours being knocked around? Listening to these fools? He just wanted it done. It’s hard, vacillating between wanting to live and just wanting this miserable day to be over, however that happens.

In the distance, Keith heard someone call to General Tullius, and then the man himself called back.

“Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh! Divines, please help me!” There was no helping any of them now, but Keith wasn’t about to say that. He was willing to let the horse thief beg. “This can’t be happening!  This isn’t happening!”

“It is. It is, and Sovengarde awaits.” The man across from Keith looked up at the walls. “Helgen … I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I wonder if Velod is still making that mead with the juniper berries mixed in?”

Oh gods, not this. No, no, no! Not this!

Keith actually did smack a hand down, he didn’t want to hear this sappy bullshit. The surprised faces of his fellows were matched my his glare. Before he could say anything though or vomit because of the sudden motion, they were through the wall and the voices of villagers could be heard mixing with the guards’, catching everyone’s attention.

Children were being pulled back inside their homes. A captain had joined the first cart, and she was barking out orders to the guards walking the street. It almost looked like it could have been his hometown. Keith, if he could have, would have pinched himself. None of this sappy shit, please, he thought.

This was humiliating, being paraded through this town. But, Keith was also angry. He had nothing to do with these wolves! Stupid, fucking ambushes and stupid, fucking civil war.

The captain had moved away from the first cart and was now just meandering in about the middle of this prisoner’s caravan. “Hurry up and get those prisoners out of the carts! General Tullius doesn’t have time for your lollygagging!”

Each one rounded the curve in Helgen's main road, and then came to a shuddering halt. Keith’s cart was last. He watched as a soldier with a clipboard and a charcoal stick walked to the back of each, calling out names and dragging the members out of the back to line up in front of a …

Shit.

He had known but this was … this was real now.

They were lining up in front of a chopping block.

The blood in Keith’s veins was boiling again, the futility of running away that had sunk in while they were being driven here vanished. He tried to focus his thoughts enough to work out some sort of plan, but the anger kept distracting him.

This was a terrible mistake and deity be damned he was going to die for some dumb mistake. Maybe if he waited until his name had been called, he might be able to surprise them and slip away? Or perhaps - Keith glanced around the open area they were in - actually that wouldn't work. No, there were too many guards with bows for him to be able to scale the walls.

The thief had the same crazed look Keith worried was in his eyes. He started gesturing wildly between himself and Keith. “No! Wait! We’re not rebels!”

They were slowly being led off the cart, one at a time. The horse thief was struggling in the arms of a rather beefy Imperial. The man who had been across from Keith kicked the thief's leg, “Face your death with some courage, churl.”

“No!” He tried to kick back, but his guard held him fast. “You’ve got to tell them we weren’t with you! We weren’t!”

Keith himself was lead from the cart. The anger and the fear had glazed over now that he was standing. It was all just sort of … numb. In the back of his head, his consciousness was shouting, screaming at him to run, to move, to flee, something, anything. He shuffled to the back of the pack, feeling the head injury begin to weave threads of fatigue into his brain.

A woman from across the square, wearing a captain’s banner, raised a clipboard. “Step towards the block when we call your name!” She shouted.

The stormcloak man grit his teeth. “Imperials and their damn lists…” he muttered. The horse thief looked as frantic as Keith was feeling. Well, frantic and seriously concussed. All this shouting was like axe swings.

“Jarl Ulfric of Windhelm,” the guard beside the captain shouted.

Jarl Fucking Ulfric stepped forward and the stormcloak called out to him. “It’s been an honour, Jarl Ulfric.”

He just grunted in response. That made sense, his mouth was covered, but Keith probably would have hoped for more if he had been in the underling’s place.

“Rolaf of Riverwood.” The guard yelled again, and the stormcloak underling stepped forward. He thrust his chin out, determined to take his own advice. Keith stopped trying to count the guards in the square and the number of weapons to give a moment of admiration to the man - Rolaf. That took stones.

The list-bearers called a few more names, and persons from other carts nearby marched a pace or two. There were approximately 52 guards, 45 with visible weapons, but the remaining ones no doubt had hidden swords. His eyes were swimming and they were moving too much for him to be completely sure. If he could catch them at a distracted moment, maybe he would have time to get up the wall behind him. There were the bows to deal with, but as long as he was over the wall, there’d be a higher chance of him surviving. Still shit odds, but a one in five chance is better than a one in ten, twenty, more.

“Lokir of Rorikstead,” The guard shouted. The horse-thief’s skin turned as pale as the clouds above.

For a moment, Keith considered using whatever this fool was planning as a distraction, but…

“No! I’m not a rebel! You can’t do this!” Lokir the thief screamed as he tried to sprint past the captain and her guards. A bow standing on the porch of the nearest house shot him in the stomach.

That was exactly what Keith was expecting. Of course, the veikr couldn’t even do something that would take more than 5 seconds to deal with.

Lokir was still crawling back the way the carts had come. “You can’t kill me!” He crowed, again and again. It sounded like he was coughing up blood with each word.

The Captain nodded to the bow nearest her, who turned and shot the thief again. This time he stopped moving. She sighed and went back to her list while the guards around her just shook their heads. Whether they had been expecting him to run or not, they were clearly disappointed in his ability as well.

More names were called over the next ten minutes or so. The guard who had originally trying to hold Lokir back had moved to Keith’s side and was now gently keeping him upright. It wasn’t until they shook Keith slightly, he noticed that the names had stopped. The Captain and her guard were both looking at him.

He looked back.

The Captain was frowning.

He tried to frown back, but the world was spinning a little more.

“You there,” the Captain’s guard looked confused and pointed at him. “Step forward.”

Keith’s guard walked him forward.

“What’s your name?”

Should he answer? Keith couldn’t remember. The anger and the want to run were fading, and now he was just so tired. If he answered, would they let him sleep?

His guard shook him again. It made his brain hurt. “Akira,” he managed to mumble out.

The Captain laughed harshly. “You’re Akira? You? Well, I’m sure every bandit camp in a week’s ride will thank us for capturing you.”

Her guard was shaking his head though. “Captain are you sure? He’s not on the list.”

“Forget the list,” she barked back. “He goes straight to the block.”

His head was pounding, and his hands were slowly getting number. It was almost too much for Keith to hear the guard respond. “By your orders, Captain.” Keith couldn’t do much moving at this point, but his soul sank to hear that. The guard mumbled something about laying his body to rest, but the pain and despair had overtaken most other senses.

There was a brief respite where he could just stand and nobody tried to say anything before his guard walked him forward. In front of him, the shapes of the stormcloak underling - what was his name? - and Ulfric Stormcloak were also being moved. Someone wearing what looked like priest's robes was speaking loudly, but the words were far from Keith’s ears. Then a stormcloak rushed forward and yelled to “Get this over with”

The soldier dashed to the block and fell to his knees willingly. Curiosity welled up as Keith watched the soldier rush towards his death. “My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?” he called, just loud enough to be heard by Keith before the axe came down and the crowd broke out into yells.

The blood was red and although he couldn’t smell it himself, Keith felt a wash of disgust overtake him. There was more yelling behind him, and Keith’s guard tried to move him towards the block. That didn’t go over well with his stomach, and Keith fell to his knees to expel his stomach before being dragged back to his feet and marched forward.

He couldn’t focus, there was too much shouting, his head was pounding, why was he walking? Something forced him down to his knees and Keith felt a wave of relief, just to no longer be standing.

A heavy boot landed on his back, forcing his neck into the still wet groove. He squished his eyes closed and tried to block out as much of the pain and the noise as possible.

_Divines, keep Shiro safe for me._

  
  
  


Keith blinked an eye open. His vision was swimming too much for him to make anything out, but, the shapes of people were flitting around. His ears were roaring. The boot on his back was gone, replaced with a hand, probably, pulling him upright again.

Somebody was shouting to him, pulling him along. The daytime sun suddenly disappeared, replaced by the coolness of shadow. He tried to focus his eyes on the form in front of him.

It was obviously a person, someone wearing blue. _A stormcloak? ...what?_

His wrists, still loosely bound, were pulled forward and the cord cut. The roaring in his ears was still too loud for him to understand what was being said, but when he saw a flash of red and a liquid being poured into his mouth he knew what was coming.

He tried to swallow the warm but tasteless liquid as it was being poured out into his mouth. There was a fizzing sound and then his mouth felt almost uncomfortably warm. That heat spread down his throat, radiating out into his chest, and once the heat faded, so had his pain. Mostly. When he readjusted his eyes and tried to look around the room he was in, he found his head still pounded if he moved it too fast. That said, he could actually make out his surroundings, the lethargy and pain were almost completely gone. The roaring his ears, however, was very much still present.

“Are you back on your feet?” The hand that held the empty bottle was reaching out, empty, looking for a confirmation.

Keith could see the face of his current saviour, the stormcloak from earlier, Rolaf.The man gave Keith a small smile, weary and fearful of whatever was going on outside.

As soon as he saw that Keith was okay, he strode away to the side of … Yep, that’s Ulfric Stormcloak.

“Jarl Ulfric, what is that?” The man asked with only a _hint_ of terror. Keith followed to their side, looking out a nearby window in the stone room. The roar in his ears quieted, and the sound of shouts and explosion came back in full force. “Are the legends true?”

_Legends?_ Keith wasn’t sure what that meant.

The man turned away from the window and gave Rolaf a steely gaze. “Legends,” he spit, “don’t burn down buildings.”

There was something between them that made Keith remember his own leader. Although he was confused about what was going on outside, it was too awkward for him to interrupt. He was almost grateful with the roaring returned, shaking the building to its core.

_That’s not… it was just my ears, ringing, from the blow. Why is the room shaking? What could possibly be going on out there?_

Ulfric tossed a glance over his shoulder and out the window, before shouting to all nearby to get out of this room. Hearing his leader, Rolaf turned back to Keith and caught his attention. “Up through the tower, let’s go!”

Still confused, though undoubtedly less injured, Keith followed the stormcloak up the winding staircase. As soon as Keith came upon the middle rise, he saw Rolaf bending down to start moving rocks that were blocking the rest of the stairs.

_Where did those…?_

“Come on,” Rolaf shouted over his shoulder, “We just need to move the-”

There was the sound of stone scraping against stone, a screeching unlike anything other, and then the crackle of fire.

“Get back!” Was shouted by everyone, to everyone else, and Keith finally saw what was attacking.

There, leaning in the hole it had just made in the side of the tower, was a dragon. Its skull was as big as a man’s torso, and its eyes shone in recognition as it ended it’s barrage of flames, and flew off to attack elsewhere. Through the flapping of wings, Keith could almost hear words.

Rolaf ran back across the room and leaned out the hole in the wall. “See that inn on the other side?” He turned back to catch the eyes of the crowd behind him. “Just jump through the roof and keep going.”

He pulled Keith’s arm forward and pushed him toward the opening before going to grab the next person behind him. “Go, I’ll follow when I can! Now jump!”

Keith, for once, did as he was told.

Not quite sure of what he was trying to land on, the Inn was barely more than a skeleton full of burning rubble, Keith jumped. That split second of air time let him see all he wanted to of the dragon - huge, mighty, glistening in what was probably blood, and wreathed in flame.

The landing was rough, though that was to be expected. His ankle twinged and his throat immediately filled with smoke as he stood from his landing crouch. It was hard to see the way forward, but other people would be jumping down as well so he did his best to move and find an exit. Keith followed the remains of the wall until the smoke dissipated enough for him to see.

There were no stairs, at least none that he could see. There was only open holes in the floorboards to the main level. Keith gulped a breath and jumped again. There was a voice outside, barely discernible above the screams of the injured, calling for survivors to run to him.

It was hard to make out perfectly, but Keith managed to find a gap in the broken down walls large enough to climb through in the direction of the voice. When his eyes cleared enough, he could see a small group of citizens and one of the Imperial guards. The guard was trying to pull a child out of the main road but the poor boy wouldn’t let go of the body of an older, likely dead, man.

There was a crashing sound and the ground shook, that fucking dragon had landed at the other end of the main road. The soldier picked the boy up and sprinted to the group calling “Get back! Get back!”

Again, there was a roaring call from the dragon, and then a blaze was streaking through the road. Just like before, Keith was sure he heard words in it though he still couldn’t understand them. Once the fire had subsided, and the dragon was off to destroy other parts of the town, the Imperial looked around at his motley crew.

“Gunner, take the boy,” he said while passing the child off, “Now everyone, stick near the walls. Take cover against them, don’t go inside any buildings. They might collapse on you. Anyone with an arm to fight and courage to swing it, with me!”

Before he could take off in the direction of the Dragon, he saw Keith lingering near the group.

“Still alive, prisoner? I didn’t think you’d make it with that head injury. If you want to stay that way, you’d better follow too.” With that, he turned and sprinted across the open street. Keith, along with a man and woman, followed behind. He didn’t share that look of anger and determination, he was just looking to survive. Keith figured he was better off with those who had swords and arrows than those who did not.

Once they had crossed the road, the group began to hug the walls of the city. They dashed under the overhanging stones, feeling them shake with every landing of the great beast, no matter how far away it was. Keith had moved forward to be just behind the Imperial as they were crossing behind the final home before the wall ended. It was too large to be a simple gap, so Keith assumed that this was the entrance to the keep, their destination.

“Careful now,” the Imperial called back to his followers, and Keith passed the message back. Just as they were about to exit the wall, the roaring grew louder, louder, too loud. It made his mostly healed head  _pound_. The roaring stopped, blessedly, but the crack of wings did not. Keith was pulled out of his wonder when the light was blocked from their small passage by the wall. He could see a massive foot land atop the main roof support of the house, the other miss slightly and cause the wall to come tumbling down before its position was fixed.

For all that it was massive, dangerous, and legendary, Keith watched the actions in wonder, likening the beast to a bird. That was, at least, before it leaned it’s massive head down and spat fire across the wall. If it had looked even so much as an arms-length further down, Keith was sure it would have seen them and this little party would be toast.

The great dragon finished spewing it’s fire and pushed itself back up into the air. The Imperial didn’t let the danger phase him, and the moment the dragon was gone, he was shooting for the group to follow as he darted through the remains of the house the dragon was on. Screams of the victims were dying down, replaced by war cries of the furious. Keith wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or a bad one.

As they rounded the street, Keith saw many _many_ Imperial Bows trying to shoot down the creature. As they pelted it with arrows, many exclaimed that it just wouldn’t die. Others called that they should use everything they had. One or two shouted, “To the keep!” The Imperial just kept running. The other two followers, Keith noted, had held back and joined the archers in their battle. He decided not to take such a chance.

The Imperial and Keith kept running up the road, through the entryway to the Keep. The destruction was worse here, bodies left behind and rubble everywhere. This was likely where the dragon had started its rampage.

_A Dragon… This legendary beast… At least I was right to believe they were still real._

“Ralof! You traitor, out of our way!” The Imperial shouted at the form crawling out of a crack in Helgen’s inner walls. As it dislodged itself, Keith could see it was indeed the stormcloak underling who had helped only minutes ago. Had it really only been minutes?

The Stormcloak pulled his hands into fists, slowly moving towards a stray axe lying by a burnt corpse. “We’re escaping Hadvar. You’re not stopping us this time!” He was preparing to battle it out with the Imperial (Hadvar?) despite there being, quite literally, bigger and more dangerous issues ahead.

Hadvar pulled his hip sword from its sheath. “Fine!” he returned. “I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!”

_Oh, you have to be kidding me_ , Keith thought. What utter childishness.

Right on time, the dragon circled back overhead. It shot a blast of flames right between the two men as if saying that now was not the time nor place. Keith watched as both men grit their teeth and put away their weapons. Each then sprinted towards an entrance to the keep and called for him to follow.

“Come on, with me! Akira!” Rolaf bellowed as he pulled open a side door.

“Boy,” Hadvar shouted, “You know you need to follow me to stay alive!”

 

Keith looked at each of them. He didn’t support either side of this war. He supported the pitiful, the weak, the rebel, the angry, and the beaten. Sure that didn’t sound as cool as he pretended it was, but at least that meant he wasn’t killing innocents because his leader was mad at another leader. Keith was his own leader, usually.

 

The dragon swooped across for another attack, before dropping to the ground at the far end of the Keep’s ruined courtyard. It pulled it’s head back and began to gather breath in that way Keith _knew_ meant it was going to spit something painful at him.

He tossed a glance towards the stormcloak who had helped to free him but ran towards the Imperial. At least Hadvar wouldn’t be hurling insults and brandishing knives at him just because he wasn’t a Nord.

Keith just barely managed to slip past the heavy door before Hadvar slammed it shut. Through it, they could hear the mayhem continue.


	2. Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for Violence, thank you for reading. We'll get to the love stuff eventually.

Hadvar slammed the door behind Keith but didn’t lock it. Even as he strode away, opening chests and grabbing supplies, Hadvar still never completely turned away from that door.

“It seems like we’re the only ones who’ve made it. I see your hands are free, good. Take what weapons you can find and let’s get out of here,” he called as he grabbed a fresh sword and shield. Keith heard the unsaid “yet. The only ones who’ve made it yet.” He wasn’t sure how many people could survive a  _ dragon _ , but it was easier to be silent than to voice that thought. Hadvar wasn’t done chatting though. “Do you think that really was one of the bringers of the End-Times?”

Keith … well he was fairly certain it  _ was _ a dragon, but he wasn’t a nord. He wasn’t born in Skyrim.

Opening a handful of chests in what appeared to be the bunkroom, Keith found a pair of short swords and an extra set of imperial armour. The swords he took gratefully, but he hesitated with the armour. He wasn’t an Imperial soldier, elf blood or not. His own armour, ragged furs stolen off bandits he had targeted, was damaged beyond repair from his capture and the attack outside. The bloodsoaked and burnt chestpiece smelled terrible and he could probably get new ones pretty quickly. Sighing, Keith changed into the studded leather and red cloth. He also swiped a leather satchel and then filled it with small potions (and coin) that sat on the shelves above the beds. The swords were put into twin sheaths at each hip. 

“Ready to go? Good. Let’s get moving.” Hadvar gave him a look. “Are you really Akira?  _ The _ Akira?”

Keith brushed past him. That wasn’t a question that needed answering. He grabbed a shield from a stray table as he walked. Maybe if he got far enough ahead, Hadvar would give up the question in favour of not getting left behind.

“Fine, fine.” Hadvar eventually called as he caught up. “I can respect a man’s secrets. We should be careful though, Rolaf and his brethren in arms have probably gotten in as well.”

Keith nodded and dropped to a crouch in response. There was a slight clink of his armour hitting itself and the swords jangling in their sheaths. Hadvar’s boots were almost as quiet as Keith’s soft leather shoes on the stone floors. They were perhaps not as silent as Keith preferred, but still pretty damn muffled.

As they wandered through the hall they were in, Keith could still occasionally hear the screams and roars of the attack still going on outside. Other than that though, it was still fairly quiet. He listened and strained his ears to catch something. It took a moment, but then he heard what he was looking for. Footsteps. Chink of chainmail. Whispers.

Keith signalled to Hadvar to listen closely. After a moment, the soldier caught it too. Together, they crept towards the door to the room the sounds were coming from. The reached it to the sound of laughter. There were two voices, telling each other to keep moving. Apparently the dragon was wreaking havoc on the other wings of the keep. One asked for pause, and the other agreed, telling his partner to hurry.

Hadvar leaned towards Keith and whispered in a low voice, “Maybe we can reason with them?”

Keith pointed through the gaps in the iron door - the stormcloaks were wet with blood and standing over the body of an unlucky Imperial. There would be no talk today. Hadvar’s face went pale at the sight and put hands on his weapons.

Keith signalled to the soldier to pull the chain to drop the small portcullis, so he could rush in. Whether the man believed that he was Akira, fabled hunter of Bandits and giver to the poor, or not, Hadvar nodded ascent. At the same time, they counted down with fingers.

_ Three… _

_ Two… _

_ One… _

Hadvar slammed the chain down and the iron bars fell out of the way with a clashing sound. Keith gave it no pause and sprinted into the small circular room. The two Stormcloaks didn’t have their weapons drawn, but one was arm deep in the pockets of a dead Imperial soldier. The other was holding a dagger, wet with blood. It appeared that she was the one to make the kill.

He was silent, letting his twin swords do the talking, as he flashed them forward and dug one into the lower abdomen of the pocket-searching Stormcloak. Pulling it back, he twisted the blade and tried not to let it slide to the side. If it did, there was a chance the sword would get caught on the chainlinks he had broken during entry. His victim made a fairly substantial gurgling noise as blood began to pour out of their wound. The other dropped her dagger and was reaching for a war axe that was leaning against the wall.

Keith danced back and allowed her to pick up her new weapon. Her eyes flicked to her fallen comrade, coughing loudly as his lungs filled with blood. From his side, Hadvar rushed into the fray. Before she could turn to block with the small shield on her arm, Hadvar brought his greatsword down. For a moment, Keith could see the flash of white bone near her shoulder. This injury left her open for more though, and he swung from her other side.

It likely wasn’t enough to break the chainmail under her cloth outer layer, but Keith suspected it was enough to crack the ribs he had hit. The woman dropped to her knees and shouted for mercy. 

Hadvar lifted his heavy sword above his head and steadied his aim. “You cannot receive what you are not willing to give.”

Keith looked away at the last moment. He’d seen enough decapitations to know exactly how this scene would play out. Hadvar, Keith assumed, was just watching the body as he tried to steady his breathing again. This certainly wasn’t the man’s first kill, but that didn’t mean it would be any less emotional. Keith was more than willing to let him work through whatever feelings rose up, alone.

After a minute or so, when the roaring screams of the dragon grew closer and closer, Hadvar moved towards the only other door in the room. As he walked, his blade was still dripping. The sight made Keith a little squeamish, he preferred  _ not _ to kill things whenever possible. The soldier leaned down in front of the heavy wooden door and started fiddling with a key. 

“Let’s just see if I can get this damned thing open,” he mumbled.

Hadvar managed quickly enough, and within a handful of seconds, was through the doorway and shouting for Keith,  _ Akira _ , to keep moving. The continuous noises from outdoors made the stones in the walls and ceilings shake little handfuls of dirt and dust to the floor. They ran out, down a spiral staircase, and through a handful of thin halls before coming out to a wider, more well maintained area. Here, there was a damaged section of ceiling, continuously pouring dirt down like a screen.

Hadvar pointed to Keith when they reached it, there were more Stormcloaks on the other side. There was another roar from outside, almost as loud as it had been  _ while _ outside, and then the rest of the ceiling came down. Keith stumbled and nearly fell due to the sheer magnitude of quakes the dragon was causing. What had once been a light dusting of dirt was now an immovable wall of stone.

“Oh come on,” Hadvar moaned, “that dragon won’t give up! We’ll have to find a different way through.” 

Keith nodded and began to search. Although he didn’t really know what the hall had looked like before, he was sure there had to be something here. Otherwise, Hadvar would be directing them in the opposite direction.

There were four doors left on this side of the rubble. Another was partially covered by a large chunk of ceiling. Keith wasn’t sure it would be moveable by just the two of them. If the gods had not abandoned them yet, then hopefully the exit would be through a different doorway. He and Hadvar threw open the four accessible doors and found small storerooms with no exits except for one. In it, was a small kitchen, that likely had another door at the far end. At least, Hadvar seemed to think so, as he lead Keith inside of it.

They entered into a small seating area, two tables with empty chairs in front of a fire and a raised longer table. Caught and cleaned animals were smoking in front of the fireplace. In the corner of his eye, around a corner, Keith spotted movement.

Hadvar had sprinted forward and was drawing his weapon when Keith noticed the Stormcloaks rummaging through barrels of potatoes and cabbages. He was already slicing through the first Stormcloak when Keith caught up 

Keith pulled out his twin blades and got to business. He and Hadvar made quick work of the assaulting Stormcloaks. Hadvar sneered over their bodies while Keith paused a moment. It wasn’t a prayer, he didn’t care  _ that _ much, but these were people with families and homes. Probably. Besides, at least one of them should feel some remorse. Hadvar had left his upstairs, in the room with his ambushed brethren.

Hadvar stood and wiped his greatsword on a now lifeless body. “This section is an older storage room. See if you can find anything useful.”

There were some barrels, bags, and baskets. Most had nothing but cobwebs and a few stray potatoes beginning to seed. In one bag, high on a shelf, Keith found two health potions, a magicka potion, and a stamina potion. Back in the main room, behind the raised table on more shelves, he found another health potion. There was also a hunk of hard bread and a handful of apples. 

Keith did his best to ignore the bodies cooling only 20 feet away and scarfed down the bread and two apples. His stomach wasn’t particularly happy, but Keith knew he’d need the energy from real food as soon as the remains of the potion he’d drank earlier worked its way out of his system.

As he made his way back to Hadvar, the Imperial called out to him. “Are you done, Akira? Come this way!” The older man opened the door in the storage section and slipped through it. A moment later, Keith did the same.

The door had opened on another hallway. It was not the main door to this hall, as Keith saw other doors, but due to various collapses, it looked to be the only working exit. Hadvar slowed as Keith caught up and examined his surroundings. It took a moment or two, but then he seemed to gain his bearings. Hadvar’s face grew strained as he led Keith down the slope of the hall. As they both rounded a corner at the end of it, Keith saw they opened on a large room with several small cages and various weapons lining the walls.

Hadvar grit his teeth. “The torture rooms… Gods, I wish we didn’t need these.”

Keith nodded. He wished that torture rooms weren’t used as well. 

As they walked through the doorway, the sound of sudden lightning struck Keith’s ears and his eyes frantically scanned the area. In a corner, there was a Stormcloak fighting an Imperial with small weapons. Nearer to Keith and his guide, was the torturer, a man in a long black robe, striking another Stormcloak using spellcasting.

As soon as they were noticed, Hadvar dived into the fray and Keith joined soon after. The three Imperial soldiers and Keith made quick work of the intruders, but one still managed to get a good hit on Keith and the non-cloaked Imperial. It had been a downward slash on his shoulder that didn’t break the chainmail, but definitely split the leather over top. It was probably bruising already and would certainly limit the usage of his right arm.

Keith was quietly inspecting the damage while Hadvar spoke to his peers. The Imperial not in the cloak held out an arm and grasped Hadvar in greeting while the actual torturer began to pace the room.

“You fellows happened along at just the right time.” He commented. “These kids seemed a little upset at how I’d been treating their comrades.”

Hadvar broke off his handshake and went to the cloaked man. “Don’t you know what is going on outside? A  _ dragon _ is attacking Helgen. What are you still doing down here?”

The non-cloaked one, an assistant probably, stopped his retreat towards the caged in counters to watch Hadvar. His eyes were squinting in what Keith thought was disbelief.

The torturer laughed. “A Dragon? Please. Don’t make up such nonsense.”

Keith felt terribly out of place and crossed the room to stand beside Hadvar. This was awkward on all levels, especially with the twinges of pain and anxiety the battle in here and the battles above had caused. The assistant was still watching them as he returned to his post. That didn’t ease any nerves either.

“Come to think of it,” the torturer started as he paced towards the cages of the room, “I did hear some odd noises coming from over that way.” As soon as he finished, he grunted and bent down. The old man was going through the pockets of the still warm dead. Their blood was still spreading underneath them.

Keith had seen this scene a hundred times and it still made him a little ill. It was probably the smell that got him.

Hadvar stepped toward the old man with a pleading face. “Come with us. We all need to get out of here.”

“You have no authority over me, boy,” the man sneered from above the group’s victims. “I am perfectly safe here.”

From behind the counter and it’s protective cage, the assistant scoffed. He sighed and grabbed a mace from the wall that hadn’t been touched in the battle before. “Forget the old man, Hadvar. I’ll go with you.”

Hadvar nodded at the assistant, and took another step towards the torturer. He probably had it in his mind to try and convince him again, but stopped when he saw what was in the cages. Keith had been ignoring them for his own sake, but followed Hadvar now to get a better look. In the middle cage was the body of a Breton in decent enough clothing along with an empty bottle of stamina, a few stray golden septums, and a spellbook. No doubt there were similar items on the man’s body as well. 

“Wait a second,” Hadvar turned and called to the assistant. “There's a spellbook in that cage. May I have it?”

The torturer looked up from his grisly endeavour curiously but sighed when he saw what  Hadvar was talking about. “Don’t bother with that, I lost the key ages ago… Poor fellow screamed for weeks and weeks.”

The assistant ignored his irate master and just shrugged. Hadvar grinned slightly and turned to Keith.

“See if you can get this open.” He passed Keith a single lockpick. “We’ll need everything we can get.”

Keith took the lockpick but scowled. Sure, he could probably do it, but a single, solitary lockpick? Who was going to use this spellbook anyways? Keith sure as hell couldn’t.

Glaring over his shoulder at Hadvar and the assistant, Keith bent down and got to work. It took him a moment, the slight fuzz in the back of his skull and the aching shoulder didn’t help. He did manage without making a mess or a fool of himself, but the lockpick looked cracked and he doubted it would work again.

As Keith swung the door open to grab the spellbook, Hadvar cheered quietly and the torturer bemoaned the loss of “all of his things”. The book was for the casting of “Spark”, the lightning-based magic that the torturer had been using earlier. Keith peeked in the first page, but quickly closed it and tried to pass it off to Hadvar. Both him and the other Imperial refused to take it though, so Keith just shoved it in the small pack on his belt. It barely fit, but the clasp still managed to close.

While he was there, Keith swiped the few septums sitting by the body and left the poor dead to their fate. Hadvar called over to grab whatever he could from the room and then follow. Keith didn’t think there would be anything else but gave it one more once-over. There was another small health potion on a table in the corner, which he did grab, but nothing else. 

Hadvar and the Assistant had headed towards a small hall on the other side of the room, lined with cells with skeletons inside. Keith gave the torturer one last glare before heading out to follow.

“There’s no way out that way, you know!” The torturer called out after them, chuckling.

Keith, for just a moment, hoped the dragon managed to catch this asshole.

 

There were a few more hallways, downward staircases, and more cages and bodies in various stages of decay. Keith held his gag reflex down, he’d seen things like this plenty of times, but that didn’t make it much better. Hadvar followed the assistant and Keith followed Hadvar as they went down and down. Finally, when the sounds of everything other than their own footsteps was gone, the assistant slowed and pointed to a large hole in a bricked wall.

“Here we are, I had almost forgotten about this.” Hadvar peeked through the large person-sized hole and then turned back. “Come on, let’s go.”

The hewn stone of the Keep had turned into the stone of a cave. Moss and mushrooms were growing on the gravel and dirt floor. Every twenty feet or so, there was a brazer giving off soft light. The first few had a few flames left, but as they went further and further, they were reduced to embers. As they passed one that was almost completely put out, the assistant started grumbling. 

“Hadvar,” he started, “Are you sure about this? I thought this cave would have ended by now.”

Hadvar slowed and turned back to Keith and the assistant.”It ends up ahead. This is a collapsed bit, so it’s very very old. It wouldn’t surprise me if there are Stormcloaks down here.”

Keith wasn’t sure why  _ anyone _ would be down here, but he kept his mouth shut.

Hadvar nodded at his two followers and then continued through the cave’s thin passageway. At this slower pace, the group could hear more sounds coming from up ahead.

Just as Hadvar had guessed, there were quiet voices and footsteps. The three of them exchanged looks and snuck forward. The cave’s passage narrowed to the width of a man. Hadvar pulled his arms in close, and the assistant had to turn to his side. Keith was fine, more or less. A perk of being slight, he supposed. As they moved through it, the noises grew louder and louder. There was also light rushing water. If it wasn’t for the threat of swords and axes, he’d almost call it peaceful.

Keith was at the back of the lineup, and as such, wasn’t quite prepared for Hadvar to scream out “For the Empire!” as he dashed forward. The assistant gave a wordless war cry and also ran out. Keith had a single moment of peace before he saw the mess ahead of him.

The room was dank and expansive, with some sort of water stream down the middle. Hadvar was sword deep in, surprise surprise, a Stormcloak and the assistant was bashing down on the head of Hadvar’s victim. Across the room, there was at least one more Stormcloak with a bow. They were in the middle of nocking an arrow when Keith noticed them.

The platform Keith and his crew were on was separated by the water, and there didn’t seem to be any other way across than the bridge Hadvar’s Stormcloak was on. The Imperial pulled his sword out of the poor woman and kicked her off the small bridge. From the side where Keith had seen the archer came two more enemy soldiers. They hefted themselves over the edge and joined the fray.

Keith pulled out his twin swords and dashed toward the closest one. She carried a war hammer and pushed it in front of her as a block as soon as she noticed Keith. In response, he slashed at one of her hands, trying to nick the fingers holding her weapon. Not exactly the cleanest move, but certainly effective. With his second attempt, he managed to hit the top hand, going through her leather gauntlet. She gave a roar of pain and used her lower hand to swing the hammer.

In her pain, she didn’t make a direct hit, but the blow still knocked Keith back a foot. For a moment he was worried he’d run into Hadvar or the assistant that he knew was still behind him. Keith hunched down and caught his breath before rushing forward. His opponent was raising her warhammer, and if he was quick enough, he could get a strike in. She gave a cry of anger lifted it above her head.

Keith sprinted the three steps to be back within sword range and swung with his right sword. If this was the Stormcloak’s regular weapon, then that would explain why she easily predicted the attack. Keith wasn’t able to pull back before her hammer was coming down. Although he was too close to be hit by the heavy metal head, his arm was still whapped by the wooden handle. That said, the metal head of the hammer was very,  _ very _ close to his own and again Keith jumped back out of reach.

He wasn’t expecting this Stormcloak to be so experienced with the heavy weaponry, not many people are. Keith didn’t think he could summon up the speed to take her out before it got rough. 

The woman smirked at him through her own pain. She hefted the hammer up onto her shoulder and the smirk turned into a sneer. “Not so tough are you now, Elf-boy?”

Well that, that was just rude. Keith felt a new wave of strength and speed and let it out in a forward charge. It might damage his swords, but Keith was a little too angry to care as he stabbed them into her chest. There was a terrible shout echoing the room as she began to cough red. It took a moment for him to recognize it as his own.

Keith pulled back and tried to catch his breath, his own chest heaving. “Plenty tough.” He spat at the deadly injured woman who was just barely breathing. In a fit of still palpable anger, he kicked her over the side of the platform. “Plenty fucking tough.”

Still on the same platform, Hadvar was finishing off his own opponent and the torturer’s assistant was cradling a hand while his mace sat bloody and embedded in the head of another Stormcloak. 

Across the bridge, on the other platform, Keith knew there was a Bow and as he turned to go chase them down, he felt a dull thud in his shoulder. As he moved his head to look for the offending object, the dullness exploded into brilliant white hot pain.

There was an arrow dug a few inches deep into his shoulder, still wobbling from the force of the impact. The pain and the impact forced him to a knee and knocked the breath from his lungs. Through the pain he could almost feel the wet sticky mess of blood behaving to spill down his arm under his borrowed armour. Keith sucked in a breath and tried to bite back the pain. It took a moment for him to focus enough to move, but as soon as he could, hi reached the opposite arm up and snapped the arrow. 

Just touching the protruding weapon made his body shake, but Keith felt it would be easier to move without the huge stick poking out of his arm. As soon as it was dealt with, he reached his left hand into the pouch at his hip and grabbed one of the remaining health potions. Drinking too much would make the wound seal around the arrow, but leaving it untreated would leave him useless against the remaining archers. 

Hadvar sprinted past Keith as he fumbled the cap of the potion off and lept into close combat with one of the archers. It took a moment, but Keith managed to take a swig and replace the cap, before he too turned and did his best to rush the Stormcloaks. He let the pleasant warmth carry his feet across the small bridge and into position beside Hadvar. Keith’s right arm was more or less useless, his shoulder’s hot pain had turned to a dull ache, but he could still do little more than just keep his sword in his hand.

The Bow Hadvar had lept at with his greatsword responded by trying to bash the Imperial with his bow. Shooting was useless at this range, but Hadvar was moving too fast to let the other man reach for a close range weapon without dropping his guard. Keith considered that as he sprinted past the current skirmish to meet the other archer. This side of the cavernous room was closer to the small stream of water that flowed through it and it made the floor slick. Keith did his best to compensate but noticed that each step still slid forward slightly further than he was expecting as he ran towards his opponent.

A split second decision had him trying to use that to his advantage and he stopped actually running a few paces early. The momentum continued to propel him to just within jabbing distance. The archer was already in the process of pulling out what appeared to be a dagger as Keith raised his left arm and jabbed the blade into the Archer's shoulder. Just as he had hoped, they stumbled back a step, and slipped. Before the archer could catch themself, Keith darted forward and slashed at his opponent’s arms. It quickly turned into him standing over the archer trying to stop their movements as they kicked and smashed at his legs.

Each kick that connected with his legs brought him closer to falling over as well. One particularly solid one shook him so terribly that the sword dropped from his limp right arm and clattered loudly on the ground. Something like hope flashed in the archer’s eyes and Keith let out a dismayed noise. 

With one last burst of speed, he tried to take advantage of their new hope and bury his remaining sword in their neck before he could be taken down any further. The burst of blood and spit that his opponent coughed out as his airway was severed was disgusting. It took all of Keith’s concentration not to let that be the thing that sent his stomach back up his throat, though it came close.

The archer coughed again, and Keith was forced to watch with painful concentration as the hate in their eyes bled to nothing. This was never what he wanted. The last of his strength left him and Keith fell with a crash on top of the body. This was  _ never _ what he wanted. The urge to vomit fought against his will to just breathe. 

Behind him, the sounds of battle quieted, slowly, painfully slowly, and Keith did his best to let himself rest. As his panting turned back to regular laboured breathing, the room started to spin again. Keith forced his fingers to release their death grip on his remaining sword and scramble for the partial healing potion he’d stuffed in his bag. For a moment Keith worried that the blood covering his fingers would be too much and he wouldn’t be able to grab the bottle. 

True to his worry, it slipped around his bag, but he was able to get a grip on it and pulled it out. Instead of pulling the cork out and downing it now, he put the neck of the bottle in his mouth to hold it while he tried to grab what was left of the snapped arrow in his right arm. By now the sheer adrenaline rushing through his system left his arm almost numb, but the shock was messing with his mind. Keith took as deep a breath as he could manage before wrapping his slightly bloody hand around the wooden stub and pulling with all the strength he had left.

The scream he let out through gritted teeth echoed in the chamber. The pain had him doubled over, almost touching foreheads with his unfortunate opponent. Keith forced himself to breathe, as deeply as he could through the pain without dropping the bottle still in his mouth. After a moment’s rest, Keith sat back up and reached his still shaking left arm up and grabbed the bottle while his teeth clasped on the cork. As soon as it was open, he poured all remaining liquid down his throat.

The warmth of the healing potion seeped through what felt like every pore. His breathing was easier, and the room stopped spinning. The blood still drying on his arm didn’t disappear, but he could feel the skin close over the open wound. Keith took another few seconds to just breathe and recollect himself before he slowly stood, retrieved his weapons, and turned to look at his companions.

Hadvar was bent down of the body of a fallen Stormcloak and the torturer’s assistant was in the middle of getting the torn remains of a glove off his hand. Neither looked like they had made it through the fight unharmed, but Hadvars eyes were still bright and his mouth smiling. The assistant, on the other hand, was obviously grimacing in pain. The Stormcloaks at their feet were both enemies and victims, but Keith wasn’t sure which label he preferred.

The only noises now were of him and his companions breathing, the small creek, and the assistant’s occasional groan as he inspected his damaged hand. Keith stood slowly, making sure his legs were stable, and began to head toward the pair. As he was just about to the bridge, The assistant finished taking off the ruined remains of his glove and wiped off what he could of the blood the covered his flesh. It looked like his hand was likely going to need some healing for all the slashes on it, but the man turned to leave before Keith could even consider sharing his remaining potions. “I’ve gonna go back… Someone has to watch out for the old man!” He called as he turned towards the way they had come in.

“May the seven watch over  _ you _ !” Hadvar called in return.

Instead of chasing him down, Keith took stock of his armour one more time. The potion he downed had stopped the bleeding and reduced the arrow hole in his shoulder to an angry red scar, but the leather around it was ragged and damaged. The pauldrons on his shoulder were also heavily scratched. At least he didn’t need to worry about repairing this chest piece, Keith would rather be captured  _ again  _ than wear Imperial armour for longer than necessary.

After a moment, he saw Hadvar also taking stock. They both nodded to each other and turned toward the opening and stairs on opposite the exit the assistant used. Hadvar kept turning back to look at him. “You know, whether you are him or not, you’re pretty good with those swords.”

Keith purposefully was a pace behind on the stairs so he could watch the older man. “... Thanks,” he mumbled. In case Hadvar hadn’t noticed, things weren’t going to hot for him throughout a good portion of that fight.

When they reached the top of the flight of stairs, they were faced with a set of wooden boards and lever to drop them. Hadvar gave it a smirk before turning back to Keith. “Let’s see where this goes, shall we?”

For a moment, Keith was almost confused at how peppy his companion was, but it made sense when he thought about it. Elation at making it out alive, pride for defending his ideals, and probably a true nord’s love of battle. Or something to that effect. Keith nodded to Hadvar to hit the lever.

It took a few seconds, but then a mechanism shuddered and the wooden boards in front of them fell forward, creating a path. The stone hall continued past the small wooden bridge, leading into a much larger cavern with more stone stairs and what looked like the rest of that stream. Hadvar took a cautious step on the planks before nodding at crossing. They creaked slightly, but held up well. Keith didn’t bother to stop and test them, confident that his lower weight would be fine.This new room was empty, but both of them still were taking it slow. There was no telling just what would be in these tunnels.

As Keith and Hadvar started to descend the steps, there was a rumbling. It felt for a moment like the whole earth was shaking, but then the echoing sound of that cursed dragon roaring filled their ears. The shaking intensified and Keith dropped to his knees for better balance. Beside him, Hadvar stumbled, and behind them both, the boards that supported their crossing were crushed by falling rocks. Once the roaring and the shaking stopped, Hadvar pulled himself back up and went back to inspect the rubble.

He leaned in and tried to give a rock a shove, disappointed when it did not budge. “Damn it.” he sighed, “looks like there is no going back that way.”

“I guess we should be glad that it didn’t come down on top of us,” Keith offered up as he stood. 

Hadvar gave a different rock a shove but again to no avail. “Well, we’d better push on. I’m sure the others will find a different way out.”

Keith nodded and waited until Hadvar passed him going back down to follow behind.


End file.
